


And No One Sees

by seraphenanox



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:56:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphenanox/pseuds/seraphenanox
Summary: He loved James Buchanan Barnes.He’s loved him since the fourth grade.  He’d been in love from the first time they’d stood shoulder to shoulder with blood dripping down Steve’s face.





	1. New Version

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: 08/08/2017 - Thank you all for your feedback. Special thanks to Infie and aireagoir both for their feedback and to my betas. Note to folks, don't let someone who knows the plot before they read it. I went back and edited the story adding back in a lot of the stuff I had taken out thinking it would be too obvious. I went back and forth about leaving the original version in there. The second chapter is the original version, first chapter is the new. If it is too confusing I will take it out. Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> I really didn't know how to tag this without giving the thing away. Please let me know if you have suggestions. For trigger warnings see the end notes. However they do spoil the story a bit. Be warned when I say the boys have issues, they have ISSUES. 
> 
> Also both of the boys do sleep with other people. I don't consider this a relationship so I didn't tag it.  
> Be gentle with me folks, first really attempt at this kind of thing, not that there is a lot of graphic detail. Maybe I will work up to it.  
> Now maybe the plot bunnies will leave me alone to go back to the stuff I should be finishing.

Steve Rogers woke, a smile curving his lips and an ache settling down deep in his belly.

No, dreams hadn’t woken him, not really.  He rolled onto his back, maybe not dreams fueled by his imagination.   Another sound, a low deep groan echoed into his room and one of Steve’s hands drifted down under the sheet.  The other he put behind his head, bracing to better hear.

His dreams had been shaped by sounds like those, the moans and slide and slap of flesh against flesh.

Another moan rent the air, this one higher pitch and his teeth flashed in a feral smile even as his hand moved with a tightened grip, pleasure and pain raced him to the edge.   

A deep growl, Bucky. Steve moved faster his motion slicked with his own pre-come, already panting.

Steve loved James Buchanan Barnes.

He’s loved him since the fourth grade.  He’s been in love from the first time they’d stood shoulder to shoulder with blood dripping down Steve’s face. And even those long years when James had never said a word, Steve knew that he was loved in return. Bucky was an action kind of guy, not a word one, after all.  

Steve loved the days when Bucky was calm.  He loved the playful teasing, the laughter.  He loved lounging around first in the small living room or on those hot distant days, up on the roof.  He loved the sight of him, eyes half closed and sleepy. He loved the scent more, the spicy scent that was just James spiked with summer sweat or winter frost.

He loved the restless Bucky too.  Those times when James snarled and prowled like one of the lion they’d seen caged up in the Brooklyn Zoo.  There was a fire in the gray eyes, a shape to the body that made Steve itch to reach for a pencil. 

He never got to though.  Nights when James didn’t have to be at work or Steve didn’t have to work too early and wasn’t sick, then Bucky wouldn’t hear of staying home. He’d pull Steve along with him to go do something other than “stare at these damn walls Stevie.  I just can’t take it anymore”.

Back then, it would have been dance halls, now clubs and bars.  It was neve about drinking, never about dancing, not with Bucky and never ever when he was in his “moods”.  It had been and always would be about women.  

And luck, that was for other people, not Bucky.

Steve loved to watch the brunette.  He loved how Bucky never really had to work for it either.  Within the hour there would be one, sometimes two ladies hanging off of the man’s arm and his every word.

Jealousy, Steve never felt it.  Not with Bucky. 

And Steve, Steve was fine with it.   Watching the fire light up in his friend’s eyes, to see how he smiled and wooed. Steve had no reason to be jealous, none at all.

Because when the brunette flirted, when he kissed a girl, Steve always saw those gray eyes flicker his way, stare into him like he was the one that James was talking up, like he was the one James was kissing.

The first time still made Steve shiver; made him ache.  So long ago it was barely a whisper, barely a memory to anyone else.  Not the first time he’d gone out with James, but the first time he really showed Steve just how much and how Bucky loved him.

Not the first time that Steve had plucked up the courage, half from Bucky’s own successes, and some from the beer he’d sipped all night.  And it certainly wasn’t the first time that he’d been turned down.  It was the very first time that he’d been rejected so humiliatingly, laughed at for being small, for being skinny. And the first time that it had been done in James’s face.

Steve loved the way that Bucky had stuck with him.  Stayed by him.

Bucky had been there when Steve had walked out of the hall.  Steve hadn’t been paying attention, his face still red and sore and lost in in his own head.

A long and silent walk back no jokes, no humor or encouragement to try again.  And once they were home, once they had closed that door, there had been soft words, and sweet smiles. 

Gray eyes weren't dancing, they weren't merry or bright.  No these were fierce, these were feral.  The arms that hugged him had been gentle. Bucky hadn’t fussed, hadn’t protested, not when Steve talked about going to bed and certainly not when he’d pushed the brunette to go back, to have fun without him.

Steve loved that sly smirk, the feral smile as rare it was. 

Had James not be so close, had he not been on Steve’s good side, Steve might not have heard it.

“It’ll be okay.  I’ll take care of it.”

Softer too, “I love you.”

Steve had been woken up that night too.  Not to sounds and sex, but of James standing there, moonlight illuminating the messy clothes and the wild hair. 

Something about it, something about it, the way he stood, the pale light shining in eyes blown wide, had made Steve reach out sleepily, hoping that if he was wrong, if he had been mistaken that maybe he could pass this off as a dream.

But he hadn’t been.

Now he panted harder, remembering. 

Remembering how Bucky had looked standing there in the silver wash of light.  The way the clothes hadn’t quite fit.  They hadn’t been the ones James had worn out, these were older, rumbled and dirty.  The dark smears under the man’s nails.  Streaks of something on the bare arms that flaked away when Steve had rubbed his fingers across those arms.  He had no sense of color, not then, and in the dark he had no clues to tell him what hues they should be.

And the smells. The man had smelled of earth and something else, something coppery and rich and something that was just James. Steve had been intoxicated by that smell.  He’d reeled when James kissed him.  Brutal and possessive at first, he’d moan under the clamping grip at the back of his head and the feel of rough fingers through his hair. But then it had changed, soften and mellowed into soft nips and licks.

“I love you.”  James had said flushed and sweating while Steve had kissed his way down the man’s broad chest, stopping sometime to bury his nose in those rich smells to brush away those smears and kiss away the flecks of brown drying on Bucky’s bare skin.

“I adore you.” He’d said with his hand buried in Steve’s hair when Steve had swallowed down his cock.

“No one else but you.”  James had moaned as he let Steve, skinny little asthmatic Steve, the one no one looked twice at, fucked into him.

And then the war. 

James had left and Steve saw no point to continue. Without Bucky a piece was missing, nothing felt right, nothing worked. 

After Rebirth, after Erskine, Steve had thought he’d lost more piece.  He could see more, hear more.  He could smell a thousand individual things.

But none them were Bucky.

Steve had missed those mixtures of scents. He learned to identify the components; he found their like.  He could find copper and earth easily in the fields.  But was polluted, mixed with things that made his nose curl away in disgust. 

Those smells were too muted too something and no long excited him and no longer soothed him. 

Even when he found James, reclaimed him from Hydra that first time, even when they had been able to take a little time for themselves Steve couldn’t reclaim that one piece.  It never really felt the same, overshadowed by the war, by their mission everything felt muted and off kilter.

And then James fell. Steve had wept.  Had buried his face in Bucky’s old jacket, had scratched at his own skin trying to pull all the pieces together. Maybe Erskine had broken him, maybe Rebirth had.   Loosing James certainly had.

Then the war was over, Steve had fallen too, and then he’d woken up.  And still with his James.  Until the other man had come back; back to himself and back to Steve. 

He can’t remember the name of the girl that James brought home the first time in this new century. Steve had never been introduced, nothing more than a brief glimpse when she’d pulled at James to hurry, to get somewhere private.  It might have been Mary, or might have been Amy.

Hunched over the kitchen table, hidden mostly in shadows Steve hadn’t rated more than a dismissive sniff and a “Can we hurry.”  And when the noises started, when the first shrill moan, well Steve had smiled into his coffee cup.  Their apartment now was a fair shake better than what they had had.  Two rooms with solid doors and thick walls.

But Steve was better too.  His hearing was better now too.  And normally he couldn’t hear when the doors were closed.  They both knew it too, a door left cracked up was almost as good as being in the same room.  And James was not careless, not ever.

So, he sat there, pants open and erection in hand listening to the grunts and groans spilling when James came.

She had left, as whiny as she had come.  It was late, she had to get home.  Had his roommate been there the entire time?  And could James give her a lift home?

And Steve had sipped his coffee looking up into blue gray eyes gone dark and wide and Steve had nodded.

The memory of James bent over the kitchen table, Steve buried in the man and the scents and the reality of James’s silence, the absence of sound when the man came pushed Steve over the edge.

 

The way that James had returned.  How they had fucked, Steve holding James down bent over the table and slamming into him with all the force that he’d never had before, his nose buried in that heady rich smell.  Fingers trailing through the rich, rich reds and muted red browns dotting James’s arms, fleck across his chest.

Making sure that every inch of his Bucky was covered with his scent, his touch.

“I love you.”  Bucky had said.  “I see you.”

“I love you, only you.”  Steve mouthed the words, the same words he said every time.

And he did.

They hadn’t stopped, not after the first.

The next had been drunk and teetering with it.  This one had been blonde, he remembered, cooing and climbing over James even before the apartment door had closed. 

They hadn’t bothered with a pretext that time.  No reason other than because they could.  That time Steve had gotten to watch, gotten to sit back and focus on the broad back pounding into flesh.  And when James turned to look, still agreeing to take her home Steve had nodded.

Sometimes Steve would go out too, and this time no one ignored him. Now no one rejected him.  They didn’t turn their noses up his muscled body or his broad shoulders. 

But that was all most saw now.

Most.

Alexis was different, she was special. Once when James had pulled Steve with him. They had talked and laughed and it had been so very easy.  So easy that Steve had introduced him to James.

There had been no false smiles, no pouting.  Flowing conversations and laughter while a finely manicured hand tucked itself into Steve’s back pocket.

And when they got home, Steve had been the one to take the lead. And at the end of the night Steve shook his head. Steve had been the one to drive Alexis home, to walk her to her door.  Giving her one last kiss, a soft benediction on the forehead and he left her with the warning to be watchful, to be safe.

And that night Steve had let James fuck him.

A litany of names and they didn’t matter.  Twenty, thirty, Steve had lost count years ago. It wasn’t every night, or every week.  Sometimes they went months without.  But then James would get restless, would pace and rant.

Steve would be the one to massage the tense shoulders, to whisper soothing words.  Sometimes Steve would go with him, but sometimes he would stay at home while James left to prowl.

Steve didn’t mind.  Not at all.  And never when those nights even with James open under him and Steve lost in that odor.

He heard movement on other side and dressed.  He slipped out into the kitchen before the shower turned off.

This one was a red head.  Long lines and lean muscles.  She saw him immediately, her green eyes taking everything. 

She looked at him with eyes that saw.

Steve smiled.


	2. Original Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original Version of the Story. Very Obscure.

Steve Rogers woke with a smile.  He rolled to put his back against the wall, all the better to hear.  It hadn’t been his dreams that woke him stiff and aching.  Well, not dreams fueled by imagination alone.  A low guttural moan echoed through the wall and his hand drifted downward.

His dreams had been shaped by these sounds the groans, the moans and slide and slap of flesh against flesh. 

Another moan rent the air, this one higher pitch and his teeth flashed in a feral smile even as his hand moved with a tightened grip.  Pain and pleasure lanced through him. 

A deep growl, Bucky, and Steve sped his movement slicked with his own pre-come.

He loves James Buchanan Barnes.

He’s loved him since the fourth grade.  He’d been in love from the first time they’d stood shoulder to shoulder with blood dripping down Steve’s face.

It had never been a question in Steve’s mind that James loved him back either. 

It had taken years before James said it, before he had done anything. 

Like any night when James was restless and neither had to be at work too early, he had pulled Steve out to go dancing, to go do something other than “stare at these damn walls Stevie.  I just can’t take it anymore”. 

To pick up women, Steve knew.  He wasn’t jealous. He had no cause to be.  Bucky being healthy, being happy.  That was what Steve wanted. 

And when the brunette flirted, when he kissed a girl Steve always saw those gray eyes flicker his way, stare into him like he was the one that James was talking up, like he was the one James was kissing. 

Steve had gotten the courage, fortified by James’s success, by the beer in his hand and tried.  But as small as he was, as skinny his rejection had been swift and humiliating.

Bucky had been there with kind words and sweet smiles.  It had been the other man’s eyes that had told Steve what he needed to know.  James had walked him home and hadn’t fussed, hadn’t protested when Steve had all but pushed him out, pushed him to go back. 

Steve had been woken up that night too.  James stood at the side of his bed, moonlight showing the messy clothes and the wild hair.  And Steve had just smiled sleepily and reached out, hoping that if he had been wrong, if he had been just mistaken then he could pass it off as a dream.

But he hadn’t been.

Now his breath sped up remembering.  Remembering how the man had smelled of earth and something else, something metallic and rich and something that was just James.

Steve had been intoxicated by that smell.  He’d reeled when James kissed him.  Brutal and possessive at first, he’d moan under the clamping grip at the back of his head and the feel of rough fingers through his hair. 

But then it had changed, soften and mellowed into soft nips and licks. 

“I love you.”  James had said flushed and sweating while Steve had kissed his way down the man’s broad chest.

“I adore you.” He’d said with his hand buried in Steve’s hair when Steve had swallowed down his cock.

“No one else but you.”  James had moaned as he let Steve, skinny little asthmatic Steve, the one no one looked twice at, fucked into him. 

So, Steve knew that James loved him.  Loved him as the years had passed.  Love him even when Steve was no longer the spindly little guy the girls overlooked.  Loved him even when they finally came back from the war, beaten but not done. 

Still loved him no matter who James brought home. 

The first had been Mary.  Steve had never been introduced, nothing more than a brief glimpse when she’d pulled at James to hurry, to get somewhere private. 

Hunched over the kitchen table, hidden mostly in shadows Steve hadn’t rated more than a dismissive sniff and a “Can we hurry.”

Steve had smiled into his coffee cup when the noises started.  Their apartment now was a fair shake better than what they had had.  Two rooms and the walls were thicker. 

But Steve’s hearing was better now.  A door carelessly left cracked up was almost as good as being in the same room.  And James was not careless, not ever.

So, he sat there, pants open and erection in hand listening to the grunts and groans spilling when James came. 

Maggie had left, as whiny as she had come.  It was late, she had to get home.  Had his roommate been there the entire time.  And could James give her a lift home. 

And Steve had sipped his coffee looking up into blue gray eyes gone dark and wide and Steve had nodded.

Now he came again to the sound of James’s harsh breathing and the memory. 

The way that James had returned.  How they had fucked, Steve holding James down bent over the table and slamming into him with all the force that he’d never had before, his nose buried in that heady rich smell.  Making sure that every inch of his Bucky was covered with his scent, his touch. 

“I love you.”  Bucky had said.  “I see you.”

“I love you, only you.”  Steve mouthed the words, the same words he said every time.

And he did. 

After Maggie, came Susan.  She had been drunk and teetering with it. Steve had shaken his head when James had gestured, had offered. She had cooed and waved at Steve, but she wasn’t really seeing, not even with all the looking. 

Steve had gone out with him again, like they had before the war.  The girls didn’t ignore him now, not like they had, but he still had no idea how to talk to them. 

But he’d met Alexis, and they had talked and laughed and it had been so very easy.  So easy that Steve had introduced him to James, had smiled when Alexis with one manicured hand tucked into Steve’s back pocket, had smiled and talked to James, not flirted not with anyone but Steve. 

And when they got home, Steve hadn’t been surprised that Alexis had been born Alex and hadn’t been bothered.  And she hadn’t been bothered when James joined them out on the couch, friendly and kind but that was all.

Steve had been the one to drive Alexis home, to walk her to her door.  Giving her one last kiss, a soft benediction on the forehead.

And that night Steve had let James fuck him.

A litany of names and they didn’t matter.  Twenty, thirty, Steve had lost count years ago. It wasn’t every night, or every week.  Sometimes they went months without.  But then James would get restless, would pace and rant. 

Steve would be the one to massage the tense shoulders, to whisper soothing words.  Sometimes Steve would go with him, but sometimes he would stay at home while James left to prowl. 

Steve didn’t mind.  Not at all.  And never when those nights even with James open under him and Steve lost in that odor.

He heard movement on other side and dressed.  He slipped out into the kitchen before the shower turned off. 

This one was a red head.  Long lines and lean muscles.  She saw him immediately, her green eyes taking everything.  And she looked at him. 

Steve smiled the razor toothed smile. 

And she saw.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for stalking and serial killing. Yes the last woman was Natasha. Let me know if you have better suggestion to tag this. 
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.


End file.
